What I’m Into: Sex as a Service

I think I’ve always had a thing for sexual servitude. I remember feverishly reading fanfiction as a young teen and experiencing a surge of arousal when words like “deftly” and “expertly” were used. Something about the idea of being skilfully, deliberately serviced was really appealing to my adolescent brain. And it still is.

The movie Hysteria fanned the flames for me. It’s hardly intended to be sexy, but Hugh Dancy as a doctor giving frustrated women “hysterical paroxysms” with his hand or a crude vibrator? Oh, swoon. Gimme some of that. (I know the whole idea of “female hysteria” is incredibly sexist and problematic. But, like Dylan Ryan says: your fantasy life is your fantasy life.)

Nowadays my fantasies often drift to service-related scenarios:

• The aforementioned hysteria doctors – dressed in full garb complete with lab coats and stethoscopes, of course – being perfectly on time for our appointment and dedicating several minutes of focused attention to bringing me to orgasm. Bonus points if there is a speculum involved.

• Hired escorts (male or female or sometimes one of each). In this fantasy I am typically a total pillow princess and just lay back while things are done to me. Maybe a domineering fuck while I’m sensory-deprived and tied up. Maybe a service-top scenario, where I’m only allowed to come when I’m told (but I will definitely come at some point). Maybe a long, slow massage with a happy ending. Hoooo boy.

• Rachel Kramer Bussel’s excellent story about a restaurant where women can receive oral sex from trained providers in a back room in between courses. (Dear RKB: Can we get together for cupcakes and an extended discussion of spanking and submission? Because I feel like we are totally on the same page about all of those things. Sincerely, GJ, your adoring fan.)

• A dutiful slaveboy who lives to please his mistress. Ideally one who prides himself on his stellar oral sex skills. I read a story (maybe in the anthology Tasting Her? which is also a Rachel Kramer Bussel publication?) where this male sub is so proud of his cunnilingual abilities that his domme decides to offer his services to a slew of other dommes at a sex conference party. Um. Sign me up.

Servitude is one of those strange fantasies that would never appeal to me in real life, at least not nearly as much as it does in my head. If I get the slightest inkling that my partner isn’t into what they’re doing or isn’t attracted to me, my arousal deflates like a punctured blow-up doll. I’m sure plenty of escorts, erotic masseuses and phone sex operators are skilled at creating the illusion of mutual enthusiasm, and I’m sure their customers love that, but I’m not sure I’d ever be able to relax enough to enjoy myself.

For now, though? I’m happy to fantasize about Dr. Hugh Dancy jerking me off under a medical blanket like he’s done it to hundreds of other women before me. Oh, doctor, you sure do know what you’re doing.

This post was made possible by the lovely folks at Babes of London! Kisses!